


Your Tide Pulls Me In

by briaeveridian



Series: A Mythology We Weave [5]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 1800s, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ben POV, F/M, Greek gods, Magic, Mythology - Freeform, One True Pair, Sailing, can you tell i'm a feminist, hades x persephone reference, here's my liberal agenda (lolz), monsters of the deep, sorry if this disappoints anyone but there's no tentacle porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briaeveridian/pseuds/briaeveridian
Summary: The last thing Ben wanted to be was a sailor. But after losing his comfortable life as a political advisor to his mother, as well as struggling with the loss and estrangement of his family, he cannot see many other options. When he steps on board theSupremacy,Ben sets his mind to surviving this challenge as he has the previous ones. Little does he know how the oncoming storm will change him entirely.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: A Mythology We Weave [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918027
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note: I've done research for this story but I'm not a sailor. If you are and have suggestions/fixes, let me know :)

Ben clenches his fists and steps onto the ship. It should be a trivial thing going from land to sea. And yet his stomach twists viciously upon itself. 

This is the last place he ever imagined finding himself. And yet here he is, willingly crossing from a dream of the past into the nightmare present.

A female sailor, one of the rarest sights on a ship, gives him a curt nod when he places both feet on the _Supremacy._ Mimicking the movement, Ben sidles past her. He tries to quell the anxiety rising within him, sensing that these are the kinds of people who can sense weakness. _Do not demonstrate your vulnerability or the sharks will circle without hesitation,_ he thinks savagely.

Next to greet him wordlessly is an older man who has the appearance of a captain much more than the actual captain. He looks capable and shrewd, weathered beyond his years but wiry and strong. The man narrows his eyes briefly and appraises Ben, who considers inviting a handshake but decides against it.

“Hello,” he says instead.

The older man tilts his head in acknowledgment.

Uneasily, Ben shifts his attention to Captain Hux on the quarterdeck above. A red crop of hair adorns Hux’s head and an arrogant sneer seems to inhabit his features at all times. Ben met Hux in the main tavern, _Empire’s End,_ days before. Though Ben had immediately disliked the man, he knew there were few employment options for someone with his last name and familial associations.

Hux barely glances at him upon approach. “Ah, right on time, _Solo,_ ” Hux says with enough disdain to leave an acrid taste in Ben’s mouth. “Acquaint yourself with Phasma and Pryde, both of whom you passed. Mitaka is below deck inventorying the _cargo._ ” 

The word holds a warning and a dare simultaneously. Ben concludes he’d rather not know what form the cargo takes and simply nods without inquiring further, which elicits a satisfied smirk from Hux. “We’ll be leaving within the hour. Prepare yourself. It shall not be an easy voyage for you. Though others might consider being the son of Han Solo a boon, you will soon find it is nothing more than a curse upon this vessel.”

 _I am neither surprised nor intimidated,_ Ben thinks. Other retorts crowd his mind, including _You don’t intimidate you, weasel,_ and _You have no idea the curses I live with because of my family._ The words cluster in his mouth unspoken and he swallows deliberately. Signaling his understanding to Hux, he goes in search of a bunk.

A chilly gloom enshrouds him when he jumps from the ladder onto the lower level of the ship. A row of hammocks swings to his left and crates pile on the right. The ship does not have quite the space Ben expected. _Such a cargo vessel should have greater capacity than this,_ Ben notes, recalling things he heard his father say. It occurs to him that Commander Snoke boasts countless larger ships in his armada. _Perhaps our inexperienced captain hasn’t yet earned anything larger,_ and the thought makes him crack a smile.

“You must be Ben Solo,” a voice says behind him. Ben jumps and whips around.

“I am. But usually, my name is spoken with a more distasteful inflection. Are you Mitaka?”

The younger man extends his hand, which Ben takes at once. “That’s me. The freshest sailor on the crew, until you joined us,” Mitaka says with a friendly tone. “Everyone’s taking bets for when I will up and jump ship. But they’ll see. I’m tougher than I look.”

“I believe it.”

Mitake offers a small grin and walks over to count the cargo crates. Ben sets his mostly empty rucksack down beside a hammock. He tests the strength of the hammock and goes to sit in it.

“That one’s Phasma’s. Don’t get her cross at you. And never mention that she’s a woman.” Mitaka turns his head back toward the boxes but his focus doesn’t last long. “You know, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve heard stories of your father. His exploits,” Mitaka enunciates with eyes aglow. He stands and walks closer to Ben, who grimaces unintentionally.

“Yes, my father had quite the list of _accomplishments_.” He doesn’t meet the man’s gaze, desperately hoping that his crewmate doesn’t request stories and elaborations that Ben cannot provide.

_Even if I could, would I?_

After staring for several seconds, Mitaka concludes he shouldn’t press. 

“I finished the inventory. See you in the sunshine.” Mitaka speaks with a levity that seems out-of-place here.

“I hope there’s enough sunshine to last me,” he says quietly to the creaking shadows around him.

  


* * *

  


The ship quakes violently hours later, thrashed by ruthless waves that lick the planks until they are raw. Seething black froth seeks to pull the vessel down into a world darker than the tarnished sky above. When a burst of wind pushes against the sails, Ben knows the sky will break imminently.

 _Just my luck. A single day into my first voyage and we hit the deluge of the century_.

“Fasten the jib, before we lose it, Solo!”

Hux’s voice is nearly stolen by the next gust. Ben jerks a nod and slides across the deck, pulling at ropes that hang loose and dangerous in the middle of the ship. They are dense with water, knots turned to impregnable layers of fibers that resist his straining fingers. To compound the challenge, his hands are already frigid and they struggle to obey his commands. It takes too long and Ben starts to breathe heavily, worried he will be thrown from the ship if anything poor comes to pass because of his sluggish efforts.

A heaving wave breaks upon them and Ben falls on his backside.

Despite the dire conditions the sailors don’t miss his clumsiness. Hoots and jibes reach his ears, which turn a vivid shade of crimson. _If they’re laughing, maybe I still serve some purpose._ Regaining his feet, Ben resists the urge to tug at the shirt that clings to his chest, knowing how fruitless the endeavor would be. He ultimately manages to shift the rigging from its current location to bring the jib around through the perpetual assault of moisture. Now, the sail will avoid a lateral beating of wind and force.

Shaking, Ben grits his teeth and turns from the job he accomplished to locate the next. His breeches and socks are soaked. It’s something he has not yet gotten used to, _the inability to feel dry on this blasted ship_ , he thinks vehemently.

Since this is his first time with the crew of the _Supremacy_ , Ben’s tasks include an endless list of gruntwork he must complete before he achieves any modicum of respect. His positioning on the bottom of the hierarchy will remain until he can prove his mettle. It takes regular first-time sailors months to prove their value. Considering Ben’s previous life of academics and offices, he fears it might take even longer.

His predicament is made worse by the fact that he is Han Solo’s son, renowned captain and infamous smuggler of the high seas. It’s the kind of suffocating association that demands and takes without consideration of one’s own interests. The weight of expectation and judgment feels tighter than the cables Ben just wrestled with.

Ben’s father always set a high bar; in captaining, gambling, and romance. Before he turned twenty Ben decided it was not fruitful to aim to match these exploits. Instead, he had intended to forge his own path.

Which makes the irony of living on a ship at twenty-nine sting all the more.

 _What shape would my life take if things had gone differently_ , he thinks morosely, the lull of waves triggering his rhythmic and cyclical regret. _If I had known the secrets of the past sooner…_

A bucket slams into his chest, which he catches to everyone’s amazement. His abdomen constricts from the painful impact, however. Glancing up, Ben sees Hux glowering at him. 

“Does this appear to be the appropriate time to gaze longingly at the sea, _Solo_? What we’ve experienced thus far pales in comparison to the cloudbank that threatens to burst above us and I refuse to die because you are feeling introspective.” Hux turns back to his job at the helm, twirling the wheel with his trademark pomp and flourish.

Ben bites his tongue to stifle an angry retort. He swallows and the words burn, each one freshly plucked from the heart of a fire. But Ben manages to stay silent. 

The pure venom that lives in his last name, thrown about menacingly, never fails to splinter his heart. Though he’d never show it, Ben breaks under the verbal barrage, waves that disassemble on the tiny grains of a beach. He is insubstantial in this world, ephemeral, powerless. This is how they want him. 

_“You do not belong,”_ they have all told him. Han belonged. But not here, not on _this_ ship. Ben winces at the look of disappointment he imagines his father would cast upon him at the thought of his son, the lone living Solo-Organa-Skywalker heir, paying his dues the _Supremacy._

Would any member of his family, were they living, accept him after all he has done? Would his mother even deign to look at him, with scars and blackness so devoutly cultivated?

Whether lucky or unlucky for him, they are incapable of passing scrutiny now.

  


* * *

  


Legacy never interested Ben. Luke Skywalker, his uncle, explored the world, mapping new places and bringing charity and the word of God to anyone he encountered. He never stopped to imagine that people were fine without the arrogant interruptions of a white man invading their shores, telling them of a better religion, a better way. This was the first legacy that Ben cast aside.

Next came his father’s. Growing up on a ship, Han didn’t know or care for much else. His blood was filled with brine and constellations, skin toughened as bleached canvas, hands worn like deck boards that have been scrubbed too many times in the doldrums of sea-life. Han carved out a path that made sense for him; stowing away cargo that others would not, cutting down pirates who were known for causing innocent bloodshed, helping those in need, _though for the sake of all this is holy do not commend this compassionate streak to the man’s face_. Ben smiles, but it’s twisted by cynicism more than joy.

Leia’s legacy was the closest natural fit for Ben. He chose to pursue traditional education, scrolls and parchments and excelling within four-walls (though hardly beyond). He never gained the level of social skills he probably should have, especially considering how his mother excelled as a politician, a rare woman in a world of men in dusty wigs who positioned themselves to demand respect. But from Leia, all they demanded was a smirk.

It never made sense for Ben to become a politician since he felt nearly allergic to the focus of others. His mind sought out rationality, logic, and natural parameters and couldn’t help but scoff at the various forms of superstition and magic his father and uncle spoke of. To listen to Luke’s talk of spirits and Han’s description of monsters left Ben disappointed by their irrational beliefs. 

His attraction was to law and governance, the idea that a group of people could be guided by principles, each individual giving up certain rights for the greater good. The pursuit of these ideals didn’t require him to campaign and represent constituents. He wanted to exist behind the scenes. Leia suggested various options he could choose and his gratitude that she never pressured him was difficult to communicate.

 _I hope she knew how much I appreciated her._ The thought makes his eyes prick with emotion. He learned from a young age that a ship is no place for tears.

After graduating from school, Leia offered a position in her political organization researching and drafting, compiling information for speeches, and making plans for the future of their city. The role of advisor to Leia Organa suited Ben exceptionally. He had felt at home amidst books on law, history, and philosophy. A quiet life of the quill scratching upon paper was all he thought he needed to feel fulfilled. And it was, for several gratifying years.

But when the truth came out about his ancestry, the ugly, molten truth Leia had kept hidden, Ben lost everything he had accomplished. Leia lost more. Han emerged from the scandal unscathed simply due to his charm and lack of involvement in Leia’s life. Luke had already achieved a level of sainthood that gave him the privilege of living untouched by the deeds of the past.

Ben experiences the pangs of it to this day. Meeting anyone who knew of his grandfather Anakin Skywalker, which most individuals in the colonies did marked him as monstrous. Anakin’s legacy was the most oppressive of all; the unmitigated brutality of it left ocean-deep ravines, wounds that refused to heal no matter the passage of time. No matter how hard Ben tried to avoid the association, his attempts ended with more salt in the wounds.

His parents taught him to ignore the past. On the brink of his thirties, Ben finally recognizes how naive and damaging this misconception was.

To ignore the past allows it to haunt the present, unfettered and undiminished by time. 

Ben looks at these ancestral wounds, pokes at the festers, prods the blisters. He wants to kill the past, erase it and throw it into the ocean. Maybe then he’d be free.

  


* * *

  


The ship groans the way Ben imagines a lover would; low and throaty, unable to hold back the guttural noise any longer due to the surrounding relentless pressure. He wonders if he’ll ever cause someone to utter such a sound and quickly balks at the thought. _There’s a time for yearning and this is decidedly not it..._

Hux berates him endlessly, dictating every action that doesn’t come intuitively to Ben’s inexperienced hands. At some point, the captain’s words become the whip of wave and lash of wind, blending into the chaos of the environment. 

Eventually, Ben settles into the woven tasks at hand, each part of the ship a thread he must gather and entwine just so to avoid a smashed and watery death for them all. The mechanics of the ship start to make sense as if he is a surgeon finally comprehending the functions within a living body, the complex relationships and vital components clearly defined before him.

Gradually and to his relief, Ben begins to tap into a headspace Han had talked about more often than anything else; listening to the wants of the ship, responding to the unpredictable weather, rebelling against the hungry demands of the sea. 

He senses himself becoming one with the ship, revolting against his demise through sheer resolve and connection with the vessel made of wood and metal, fibers and bone. A chorus within him chants eagerly as he sweeps from task to task. The storm’s ferocity fades, too, until it is simply part of the background and not something that has a beginning and end.

Ben’s blood runs through each plank, his marrow lines the ropes that thrash in the wind. The ship takes from him what he is desperate enough to offer. At some point, he realizes Hux has stopped screeching directions. Mitaka and the other crewmates labor alongside Ben, fastening and loosening at the ship’s request.

No one sees the next wave, which overcomes the deck entirely. The men crash onto the deck in unison. _No time to laugh this round_ , Ben thinks ruefully. He spots Mitaka, struggling to find his feet. Lurching to his own, Ben dashes to catch his shipmate before the man can tumble into the icy darkness below.

Hux howls a string of specific directions but Ben can’t decipher the words. Somehow, he has a bewildering sense of what needs to be done. Already the mainsail shows signs of exhaustion, hinting at rips that the squall will rend.

Glancing up at the mast, Ben thinks pointedly about why he never wanted this life.

Swallowing the fear that creeps up his throat Ben starts climbing. He reaches hand over foot more times than he can count. It is high, unsteady, and dreadfully cold. Glancing below, his crewmates spend too long gaping at their newest mate taking on the most terrifying of jobs.

Something awakens inside Ben, a determination previously unrivaled. He arches upward, pushing his legs ever higher to confront the wretched clouds above. They seem to press closer, drenching him until he aches. A bolt of lightning splits the sky and Ben freezes in shock. Though some would say it’s a sign from God that he is not where he should be, Ben decides it’s simply integral to a tempest of this magnitude and heaves his way up the last of the mast’s ladder.

Due to the storm’s assailment, the cord has already begun to fray. He presses his lips into a painful line, teeth serrating his inner lips. Cutting the line will release the upper connection of the mainsail. He concludes it will fall onto the deck, where his crewmates will sever the bottom cable. They’ll have to move swiftly to fold it up before the fierce wind carries it into the ocean.

He pulls his knife from its sheath and stabilizes himself to the best of his ability. With a decisive cut, Ben frees the sail. It whips about for a long moment, the pull of gravity countered by an unyielding wind. The sound of the wet canvas against the thunder makes for quite the cacophony. Finally, it bends upon itself and falls heavily to the deck far below.

Glancing down, Ben sees someone cut the remaining ropes. The rest of the crew leaps into action to secure the now-lifeless canvas, compressing and folding before another wave can collapse upon them. Ben doesn’t relax yet, however.

He does one last look around, hoping to observe a lightening of clouds or hint they are nearing the onslaught’s edge. Only then does he notice the huge maelstrom five clicks to the right. It’s black and vicious, water sinking within itself and turning circles until Ben cannot see the bottom. He shudders, watching the swirling water churn precipitously. 

Despite the chill and vulnerable positioning at the top of the mast, he wracks his brain, trying to ascertain what natural process could cause this phenomenon. Nothing rational comes to mind to explain the vortex before him.

 _There’s but one beast who holds that much power_ , he nearly hears his father say, a ghostly whisper dispersed on the jagged wind.

Glancing down, Ben sees Hux using his whole body to control the wheel, steering them inadvertently toward what Ben has identified as complete destruction. Within his mind’s eye, he sees the ship caught by the currents, spiraling toward a point that will offer no escape. His eyes whip open, conviction burning through his limbs. 

_This is not how I die. Upon this ship, with these people, after everything that has happened._

He sets his jaw and impatiently swishes his wet hair from his face. Irritation surges through him that he had dismissed cutting his hair, having seen plenty of sailors with locks longer than his. But he had failed to tie it back and the black strands lacerate his view like the limbs of a beast he’s heard tales of his whole life.

 _Krakens do not exist. Sea monsters do not exist. The monsters I know of are innately human in form, stature, and heart_.

Climbing faster than he thought possible, Ben descends the slippery mast and leaps the last several feet. He lands heavily on the deck. His boots make a loud squelch noise upon impact, pushing out a surplus of water.

Ben rushes toward Hux, breath caught between lung and mouth. 

“Hux! We’re barreling toward a whirlpool! We must shift course or this ship is doomed!” 

He reaches the upper deck in a couple of long strides. Hux stares ahead, unwilling or unable to notice the person dripping and screaming in front of him. Ben tries again.

“There’s something up ahead that you are directing us toward! Something that will devour this entire ship without thought of life or damage!”

Even in this dire emergency, Ben cannot speak less superfluously. It’s one of the habits he has yet to relinquish; using too many words.

On a ship, it’s a decidedly unproductive mode of communication.

Hux jolts when he finally notices Ben but shrugs the new sailor off, throwing his entire weight into the activity of steering the ship. Ben grunts, his aggravation taking an interesting shape; something that demands immediate and potentially job-threatening attention.

To his utter amazement, Ben latches onto the wheel to wrestle control from Hux. The captain, though younger and weaker, spews daggers with his eyes, aggrieved and outraged by the mutinous act of the recent recruit.

“You damned barbarian, how dare you mutiny against me! It is I who will bring us through this storm, not some pathetic Solo offspring!”

Lucky for Ben, Hux can match his verbal prose without issue. But once the insult breaches the air, Ben feels a shift. It self-forms hastily, thick with anger and impatience. And more, something feral he knew existed within himself but had never allowed space to grow.

He elbows Hux violently in the face and the captain stumbles back. 

“You despicable unworthy ingrate!” the man spits and clutches his nose. A dazzle of blood adorns his extravagantly ruffled shirt. “Just wait until Commander Snoke hears of your insolence! You will never be allowed on another ship again!” The man doesn’t put forth any further fight and instead dashes away to deal with his broken bone.

Ben grips the wheel, knuckles white to match the tips of the chaotic waves. He imagines his breath, inconsistently shifting and roiling above while the ocean seeks to ravage the ship. _Han wouldn’t permit this ship to go down. Neither will I._

He diverts the ship by pushing his muscles to their limit. Without preamble, a long slimy _thing_ rears up in the water on the starboard side. It is green and black, mottled with purple hues. Large sucker pads pulsate in the air, eager to grasp and destroy.

 _It’s a tentacle,_ Ben thinks almost neutrally. While the rest of the crew releases shrieks both loud and high-pitched, Ben remains calm. His mind, unable to fully process the series of events, refocuses on sailing the ship. _I will get us away from this hallucination and save my crewmates’ lives,_ he tells himself and grates his teeth.

The tentacle has other plans.

It extends out of his eye line and disappears briefly. Returning almost instantly, it slams onto the deck, booming cracks and ear-splitting creaks resound, all seemingly amplified by the rain that presses close. Ben jumps and watches the writhing feeler slip across the shattered wood.

“What in all the worlds,” Ben mutters out loud as Mitaka screams his distress. A second tentacle has latched onto the mast and Ben is sure he must have been knocked out, must be lost in a bad dream of some kind. The pointed end of the creature slithers around his crewmate and drags the man toward the broken edge of the ship.

Frozen for a second, Ben’s brows come together in confusion. 

_How did I end up here?_ he questions briefly before launching onto the lower deck. Mitaka’s desperate fingers cling to the upturned boards, face pale and drawn. Ben slips on the wood but slides close enough to kick with all his might at the beast.

The tentacle loosens, though Ben hadn’t actually expected it too. He grabs Mitaka and pulls him back toward the upper deck. Pryde and Phasma crouch close to the captain’s quarters, not daring to enter, afraid of the beast but watching the sequence of events.

The ship’s railing lies in ruins but the frenzied ocean doesn’t diminish. Breathing heavily, Mitaka holds onto Ben’s shirt, eyes mirroring the swirling pit in the ocean before them. A heavy sound pierces the air and without any other warning, Ben feels a tentacle tighten around his chest.

In a rapid and smooth arc, he rises into the air, able to breathe just enough under the intense grip. He sees Mitaka’s mouth drop open, watching helplessly while Ben shoots up into the air. The sea monster holds him aloft, pausing curiously mid-air.

More bewildered than frightened, Ben glances around himself at his new vantage point. The Kraken agitates the water around itself but few details can be noted due to the velocity of the gyre. It mesmerizes, despite its inherent violence.

He never put any stock in the outlandish stories Han had told him, of sea serpents and fanged creatures, bottom-dwellers that come out to destroy ships and consume without regard.

_I wish I could tell you how right you were, dad. I didn’t believe you. How much was I wrong about?_

It’s a sodden realization, but one that has little ability to take up residence. His mind already abandoned its efforts to comprehend. Instead, he gives himself over to the monster, taking one last lungful of air before slipping into the cold dark waters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it took a while. Oh well, I'm learning to be gentle with myself. I have already started chapter 3 and the chap count is increasing...
> 
> Hope you enjoy this!

Ben has never felt anything so relentlessly _cold._ The water engulfs him and his limbs go limp. Despite the sting of salt, he keeps his eyes wide, needing to witness the being that before this day had been nothing more than a tale spilled from the lips of drunken sailors. 

It’s impossible to tell if he shakes from temperature or adrenaline. His muscles revolt against the rapid decline of internal heat, vibrating violently in response, trying to make their own warmth. Ben realizes in an abstract way how torrid clouds had only recently encased him on the mast. Now, the seas he avoided for the entirety of his life consume him. _Always with a flair for dramatics, my Ben_ he recalls his mother saying, teasing voice full of love.

The ocean accepts his descent, enveloping from all sides and pushing him toward the swirling menace ahead, concealing all details. Tendrils of thoughts manage to coalesce briefly. _Will I meet my end before bearing witness to this monster?_ Ben finds this possibility more infuriating than his imminent demise.

His lungs begin a dull protest, one he knows will sharpen quickly. Still, the tentacle drags at him. The pull almost feels leisurely. _This beast has patience to rival the tides themselves._ Ben’s, however, begins to fray.

An expulsion of bubbles alerts him to the fact that his air is about to expire. He pushes his fingernails into the tentacle with what strength lingers. _I hasten my death, how like a Solo I am until the last,_ he thinks languidly. In this stupor he indulges the image of sailing with his father, taunting mortality and riding waves together. Even though he’d known it was not the ideal place for him, he had envisioned that life, had fancied sharing in his father’s joy and making him proud.

The regret-tinged musings infiltrate him and time loses its centrality, expanding through the countless droplets of water that make up the cohesive structure of ocean that drowns him. Ben fails to comprehend the movement of seconds, continuing to drive fingernails into the slick skin until, without warning, the tentacle reacts. It whips him through the churning water, uncaring of his intense discomfort. He nearly gasps at the sudden jerk, but somehow keeps his lips tightly closed. Black spots begin to form on his vision and he fights the approach of unconsciousness.

The tentacle tightens and Ben’s heart picks up a faster pace. He blinks repeatedly, fighting back the need to suck air into his lungs. That’s when he sees it. His eyes fail to move fast enough, sluggish from lack of oxygen. He takes all of it in, from the copious limbs to the delicate lines of a face. 

Before him floats something much at odds with the descriptions he’d heard. No bulbous head and yellow, ominous eyes drift before him. There are no purpled spots and tarnished skin.

This is no monster.

His mind finds its limit at last. _She is incongruous, an anomaly. Something feral and arresting. Something I wish I could know._

He adds this experience to the long list of things he was terribly wrong about before slipping into oblivion.

  


* * *

  


A gentle rocking makes him stir reluctantly. Side to side he sways. Even in death water gathers him; inescapable, incalcitrant. While he comes back to himself, Ben realizes he’s shivering. 

Whatever afterlife he finds himself in, it’s entirely uncomfortable.

 _What would you expect of death?_

Something large moves to his right and he jolts.

“Calm yourself, Solo. You’re alive but battered.”

The voice is unfamiliar, cutting the air precisely and deliberately. When Ben manages to open his eyes he sees Phasma kneeling nearby. “ _How_ you’re alive is something none of us can explain.”

Ben tries to sit up but the effort makes him wince. 

“Bruised ribs, I reckon,” Pryde contributes in clipped tones.

“You saw the Kraken!” Mitaka’s excitement hits Ben in equal overwhelming measure.

“I don’t know what I saw…” Ben mumbles quietly.

“You survived!” Mitaka persists.

Hux stands nearby, eyes narrowed and jaw tightly closed.

“It doesn’t feel that way.” Ben coughs and can almost feel water sloshing in his lungs.

With a compassionate look, Mitaka helps Ben to his feet slowly. He offers his shoulder, though Ben is much taller. The men cross the deck while everyone else watches. 

“After the Kraken took you…” Mitaka shudders. “Well, we were on our way out of this dreaded place when we spotted you in the water. The monster left you, left us. No other damage.” Mitaka’s amazement reaches his eyes. Ben glances at the rest of the crew, who seem wary, edging on suspicious.

Ben grunts his acknowledgement of Mitaka’s awe. Leaning heavily on his mate and trying not to breathe too deeply- despite how much his lungs yearn to be filled completely- Ben hobbles with shaky legs across the deck littered with wooden shards.

Unexpectedly, Hux’s harsh voice rings out. “Back to work. The mystery of Solo’s survival will have to be solved once we have fixed our vessel and righted our course.”

Phasma and Hyde jump to the task of cleaning debris from the deck and bringing out the sail for reattachment. The rain already stopped and a thread of relief tugs at Ben to see a splinter of sunlight cut through the clouds. When he glances at it a cough seizes his chest. Mitaka quickly claps him on the back.

“Do you really not remember the beast? What it looked like?”

Ben shakes his head, bewildered. “It was unlike anything I’ve heard described. She-” he says but quickly stops himself.

“You could tell it was female?”

Ben pauses while Mitaka hops down the ladder to the underbelly of the ship. Then, the younger man focuses on helping Ben descend the rungs. It amazes him how willing his mate of only a day is to help. He’s especially grateful considering the reticence of the others.

“It had a peculiar and... striking appearance. But I was so deprived of air, to clarify any further simply invites further confusion for both of us.”

Ben huffs lightly, placing both feet on the lower deck. To his credit, Mitaka doesn’t entreat further on the subject. Ben glances at him. He can tell that holding back whatever questions buzz in the man’s mind takes near physical effort.

Once Ben steps close enough to the hammock he swings himself into it, garnering pain for his inherent lack of grace, followed by an intense ache that threads around his chest as he sinks into the net.

 _I’d much prefer the comfort of an actual bed right now,_ Ben thinks, gritting his teeth.

“Drink some of this.” Mitaka offers his canteen. “Then I’ll leave you to rest.”

Ben manages to swallow some despite spluttering. “Thank you. You’re very kind to someone who is but a stranger to you.”

“You’re not a stranger. Not really. I grew up with stories of your father and even a few about your uncle.” Mitaka looks at his feet. 

“I grew up with those stories, too,” Ben replies quietly. _But I would have preferred to have the people over the fiction,_ he adds, bitterness overtaking the discomfort within his chest.

Mitaka grabs a couple of blankets from a chest and hands them to Ben. “Well, I’ll wake you when we’ve made port, wherever that shall be. Rest well.”

And the younger man bounds up the stairs.

Before exhaustion overcomes him, Ben wonders vaguely what story he will tell about today, or if he’ll blot out the memory altogether.

  


* * *

  


Days later Ben finds himself back on the eastern shores of the United States. The balmy coastal weather directly contradicts the sharp sea air. Of course, he wouldn’t dream of complaining. The joy of stepping onto stable land surpasses anything so trivial.

Life aboard the _Supremacy_ was not quite what he had prepared himself for. He’d been correct in assuming the social and professional components would pose challenges myriad and diverse. It would have been naive to think he wouldn’t be forced to confront the ways that being a Solo would affect his place on a ship.

However, considering the storm and the encounter with a previously considered mythological beast, gratitude that he survived at all grows within him.

_Living aboard a ship was quite the failed experiment. But at least I know that now._

He turns around to gaze at the ship. Already Hux organizes the repairs that were impossible to complete at sea. Pryde and Phasma disembark, probably in search of ale until they are recalled by their captain.

Mitaka stands on the prow and gives Ben a wave. 

“Take care of yourself, _Kraken killer_!”

Ben frowns at the term and tries to keep his voice from echoing across the dock. “My good man, nothing was slain. And announcing such absurdity at that volume will attract precisely the kind of attention I hope to avoid!” Nevertheless, he smiles and waves at the younger man, before adding “May we meet again, Mitaka!”

Mitaka grins broadly and salutes. Glancing over, Ben notices Hux glaring at the young sailor and makes his exit.

As he pockets the meager bag of coins he earned from the four days at sea, Ben glances around. The settlement is rough, unestablished. He never found out what cargo they delivered but he concludes it was probably alcohol or ammunition, both things being necessary for a place such as this.

Ben has successfully kept his mind off of that day for the most part. The arduous work at sea made it easier. But the memory haunts him. _She… It,_ he corrects himself swiftly, was something I saw seconds before dying. There’s no understanding to be found within the murky shadow of that experience. He bounces his head in silent agreement, giving himself a sense of resolution, certainty.

_And yet…_

He sees her in his dreams; her pale skin and dark eyes that hold both cloud and lightning, long sinewy hair like kelp swarming her face, chest growing and deflating with the ability to pull air from the water. Her tentacles encase him each night, tightening and tangling. Sometimes he resists because she pulls him forcefully lower and he’s not ready to become one with the darkness below. Sometimes he relaxes within the embrace, rising to the surface with her.

Either way, her lips always find his. 

The kiss is fierce and unyielding, unlike anything he’s experienced before. It robs him of orientation and thought exquisitely. It turns his blood molten and flickering, purging his body with its heat. While her mouth encircles his, he feels his skin become desperate, taut. An ache and a release build in equal measure until his mind eddies. Each dream, or nightmare, ends with him dissolving into the sea, particles released and suspended infinitely.

Most inexplicable is why these somnolent illusions end in his death while in the physical world she allowed him to live.

Though he is eager to forget and move forward, to reground in reality that offers rules and parameters that make sense to him, the beautiful monster continues its habitation. With a single glance she carved out a space deep inside him and coiled herself, unmoving and stubborn. He feels her aqueous presence even walking in the late summer air along the muddy street between small buildings and fenced yards, the smell of manure rancid in his nostrils.

Ben escaped with his corporeal freedom. But mentally he remains her captive.

With such minimal funds, he is forced to find a place within this village instead of looking for somewhere else. Of course, staying here will be cheaper but employment options may be more limited. _I could always become a butcher,_ he thinks dejectedly, watching a burly man cut expertly into a carcass across the street.

 _Perhaps my death wasn’t her goal. Maybe it was to pull me in close enough to enchant me, cast something insidious into my being that will worm its way through me until I am but a husk of a man._ It feels particularly devious to allow your prey to think it has survived, when in reality it walks within its inevitable tomb, body already planning to betray the soul.

This would mean his days are numbered, _inadequate._ There may be too little of it to find a room or pursue a job. 

Ben finds himself back at a sort of beginning; alone, without a home or income, in a swiftly flowing river he’s loath to label fate.

_If I am bewitched by the Kraken am I even capable of making a choice that is solely mine? Have I lost myself to her?_

The thought makes his stomach contort. Though never interested in possessing control and prestige for its own sake, Ben refuses to be in a state of willing incompetence. His lineage and bloodline already kept him caged. _I won’t allow a sea monster to take anything else._

  


* * *

  


The dank cottage overflows with trinkets and specimens Ben cannot identify. An almost palpable magic infuses the air, along with spices, herbs, and the scent of assorted decaying things. He shuffles his feet and breathes shallowly.

The crone he has come to see crouches in a corner mumbling to herself. Long minutes have elapsed in a strange silence. He concludes she has likely already forgotten his presence.

Ben clears his throat. Maz Kanata, who the villagers callously call _Mad Maz,_ shakes her bald head back and forth.

“Patience shall yield more than you can imagine,” she drawls. Ben deflates, regretting the admittedly impulsive decision to seek out a _witch, magic-user, mystic,_ or whatever this individual may call herself. So far, Maz has revealed little about herself beyond being confident in her ability to find a solution to his predicament.

After a beat she whispers, “Ah, yes. This combination may be what you need.” Maz stands and walks back to him. Her skin boasts a warm tan. A series of deep wrinkles circle her face, almost continuous in their loops. Her small eyes spark with color and energy, signaling a vitality that outpaces her appearance.

“Tell me more about the Kraken.”

“Beyond what I have regaled there is not much more. It attacked the ship, dragged me under. On the brink of death I saw her…” Ben considers how much he say. He worries she will laugh at him. Or perhaps worse, believe him.

“She was an unnatural mixture of monster and maiden. Both terrifying and alluring, forceful and gentle…” Ben’s stare becomes empty.

Maz leaps onto a table to meet his gaze more directly. Her eyes squint, discerning and inscrutable. She inspects him thoroughly while she is but an enigma to him.

“That was more to say.” Maz grunts and leans closer. Ben, bending at the waist away from her, loses his balance and stumbles back several steps. The odd woman snorts. “I have been around for years longer than many. I have seen the same eyes in different people. Your eyes are familiar and unshaped. You seek her out, this mistress monster of the deep.”

Ben’s jaw goes slack briefly. “As I said, I’m afraid she cursed me. And I mean truly afraid, no exaggeration or hyperbole.” He ruffles his hair self-consciously.

“You are in luck. The fates brought you here, just as they brought you to the Kraken.” Maz hops from the table and gruffly shoves bowls, scrolls, and bones onto the dusty floor. They fall in a dusty and clattering cascade. “Now, tell me your name and I shall see about this curse.”

The ridiculousness of the scenario slowly washes over him with a silent reprimand for his lack of better judgment. Maz’s cottage sits to the west, closer to the towering forest than the village proper. When he inquired about finding someone who has abilities and knowledge beyond the rational, they all directed him here.

But the superstitions of the lesser educated are no guarantee of success. _Have I even fully allowed myself to accept this? Do I believe I am cursed?_

The Ben of only a few months ago would scoff at his newly developed absurdity and launch into a diatribe explaining the discernable laws and rules of nature, ones he himself has studied.

A stick makes contact with his knees.

“Ow! Do you physically harm all of your customers?” Ben yelps, rubbing at his sore legs.

“Usually only spiritually. You’re a special case,” she replies lightly. “You grew heavy with thought and I took a page from your book of impatience.”

He sighs. “My name is Ben Solo.”

Her eyes grow unfocused for a beat.

 _Does she recognize my name?_ His anxiety builds for a lengthy moment.

When she finally speaks the words take him by surprise. 

“You feel something for her. Explain it to me.”

He balks. “Why should I?” Ben’s defensiveness makes all three words hang in the space between them.

“Because she did something to you. Would you like to at least know what it was?” Maz gives a motherly look and Ben’s shoulders sink. With an exhale, he closes his eyes and sees himself in the maelstrom.

“She made me feel seen. Important. Like I could be... adored.”

He’s more shocked by the words than he was by the whack he received seconds before, the weight of the realization sending him reeling. Maz somehow props a stool beneath him before he crumples onto the floor.

“How could I feel that way? She’s a monster.” His voice sounds embarrassingly small.

“You didn’t describe her as a monster, Ben. Perhaps she too felt seen, that all you feel are emotions matched within her. She did let you go, after all.”

Ben shakes his head repeatedly, mouth agape. He feels cobwebs lacing his thoughts, obscuring and clouding what should be transparent. When Maz rests her hand on his leg he doesn’t flinch.

“My boy, the universe is more vast and complex than we can ever begin to comprehend. To experience something inexplicable and potent marks you. What you describe is... significant, a bond between beings of land and sea. You think it’s a curse. I believe it to be a gift.”

The woman’s accent lends a grace to the words that Ben would usually immediately dismiss. He guesses she’s from an island in southern waters, warm and rich with natural beauty. He relishes picturing it until she needles him with her eyes.

Pushing himself to grasp at the words, Ben wraps his fingers around the possibility of what Maz says, trying to discern the shape and therefore the meaning. Her expression maintains its mild combination of wise and humoring, patient and obliging. She watches understanding build on Ben’s face and smiles.

“She let me live because she felt something,” Ben summarizes slowly. “But how? And who, _what_ is she?”

“How I cannot say. When it comes to what… There we might have a clue.” Maz’s eyes glint. “Drink this up before the potency wanes.”

She suddenly shoves an old brass mug full of thick brew into his hands. “What is this? It smells atrocious,” he blurts.

“Your best chance to find her. If my theory holds true, you two are now and forever linked.” Maz busies herself around the room, stoking the embers in the fireplace, nudging varied herbs out the way to allow Ben in all of his vertical glory to walk about the space comfortably. He smiles at the small woman despite himself. _It’s curious how quickly I have decided to trust her. I suppose I even kind of like her,_ he thinks and absently swirls the cup.

Maz whips her head around to look at him. Her lips quirk upward on one side. Then she turns back to her task of pulling texts from the crowded bookcase and tossing the rejected ones from the pile.

Ben stares at her, trying to swat away the sense that she somehow heard what he was thinking.

“Drink!” she demands without looking over her shoulder.

“Why do you assume I want to seek out the sea monster?”

“Because you don’t genuinely think she’s a monster. And I know of no humans who don’t want to feel seen or loved. So drink, you oaf.”

He nearly laughs at that, comforted by her similarities to his father; direct, quick to solutions, and pointing at things he may have missed in all of his intellectual ponderings.

Han had quite the ability to cut to the proverbial chase.

Envisioning his father finishing off the last of the whiskey, Ben downs the witch’s brew in one arduous gulp. “Bleck,” he chokes out, tongue running along his upper teeth to remove the last of the residue.

“Good boy…” Maz says before jumping into the air. “I found it!” She races toward him holding a massive old book and wearing the largest glasses Ben has ever observed.

“I came here for help and you are trying to poison me,” he jokes, including a cough for good measure. He places the mug onto a nearby table, cluttered with crusts of bread and hunks of butter that show evidence of tiny feet and mouths. Ben hides his grimace.

“I would never poison someone so handsome as you, Ben Solo,” Maz declares, eyes buried in the book.

His cheeks heat at once. Compliments, both rare and confounding, make an impression. He lets his hair sweep over his blush-pink ears and walks closer to peer at the book she hovers over feverishly.

“What are you reading about?”

“Sirens.”

Ben furrows his brow. Knowing he won’t insult her, he decides to further jest. “Have you forgotten the purpose of my visit? Krakens, not sirens.” He plops onto a seat.

“Ah, and thus you see another reason to demonstrate your ignorance.” She glances over at him with that now-familiar look, all care and indulgence. _The way my mother looked at me._

Ben swallows the sadness that forms. “Alright. Tell me.”

“Sirens are mistresses of the sea. Beautiful, dangerous, and dedicated. Over centuries their duties have been described through different myths and stories. I happen to like those that include the mermaids who sing sailors to their deaths. The world could use fewer asinine conquerors.” 

Ben raises his eyebrows in mock offense.

Her eyes meet his. “Were you looking to conquer anything onboard the _Supremacy_? Anything other than unemployment?” Maz smiles, uneven teeth flashing. 

Ben startles. “How did you know I was on that ship? I don’t think I mentioned it.”

“You give a witch too little credit,” Maz replies, with her eyes returning to the book. “Some say that the Sirens were meant to protect goddesses. One in particular demands attention. Have you heard the story of Persephone?”

“Of course. I did go to school.”

Maz tilts her head at him fondly and says thoughtfully, “You definitely look the scholar type, much more than the sailor.” She laughs and Ben ducks his face. Her laughter subsides and she continues. “This tale goes thus. Persephone being taken by Hades meant the Sirens had failed at the single most important job placed before them. They were unable to keep her safe from the clutches of men, of Gods. This book describes the deep and ravaging extent of their grief and anger. They were so distraught by their failure, in fact, that they took on a new job of bringing anyone brave enough to venture onto the seas to their deaths.”

Maz smacks the book shut and a cloud of dust extends into the air.

“You mean…”

“I think your Kraken is, in fact, a Siren. One who chose to become a monster of the deep. One who chose to sow the seeds of retribution.”

Ben ceases breathing. “But... why would anyone choose to be a monster?”

Maz looks at him, eyes half-lidded with a hint of irritation. “Why would one choose to feel powerful? Why would one take on a role that is active and self-directed, instead of living with regret in service to others?”

Ben knows he need not respond.

“I believe the being you witnessed is a rare and vibrant creature, one who dictates her own life and obtains what she desires. That’s far more than any land-dwelling woman can allege.”

He sees the truth in her words to a degree. “My mother directed the course of her life. She sculpted it according to her wants and beliefs.”

Maz holds up a finger. “Up until a point. Do you think I have not heard the connection between the Solo and Skywalker names? Even your mother, capable and incisive as she was, lost her place in society due to the deeds, thoughts, and whims of men.”

Once more he has no retort. His hands become a tangle of unease in his lap. He feels more unsure of his future now than ever before. _And that is quite the sentiment, considering the winding nature of my life to this point._

“Ben,” Maz says kindly and takes his hands. “You have worked hard to create a life that is yours, to fulfill your goals and be a man who can be proud of himself. And you have known a piece is missing. I sense it. Your heart yearns like a bud in early spring. You seek out that light. What if she is your light?”

“But she lives in darkness,” Ben whispers.

Maz exhales sharply. “Those are but metaphors, Ben. Light and dark are merely coexisting truths, a vital dichotomy woven into existence. A binary that is both necessary in practice and unnecessary in verbiage.”

She tilts her head. “Already you know. But you resist. Why?”

His bottom lip quivers. “Because what if you’re wrong? What if there is no bond? What if you’ve only gotten my hopes up for no reason other than to dash them?”

“My dear boy, so intellectual, yet you know so little. Look down.”

Ben’s chin hits his chest in a fluid movement. There, he sees a soft glimmer sprouting from his ribcage and sending gentle tendrils into the air. The golden light leeches from him, eager to twine and grow.

“Follow that stem. I think you will not be disappointed.” Maz smiles crookedly.

Ben throws his arms around the witch and manages a series of words he hopes communicate his feelings.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Maz holds him as tears breach his lids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm so honored that anyone chooses to explore my stories ✨


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, having taken much longer than expected.

The _Supremacy_ is markedly absent when Ben returns to the dock. “Thank the stars,” he mumbles. His vow to never sail under Captain Hux again would have been difficult to keep if that ship were his only option.

 _I must find her without delay._

Ben’s skin prickles where the tentacle had lashed him, pressing close enough to almost fuse together. The memory triggers a stampede of goosebumps down his arms. Absentmindedly, he grasps the small vial in his pocket.

Anxiety drums staccato and forceful inside his chest. Ben swallows, running a hand through his hair, and tries to configure his next steps. Though resolute in spirit his mind still grapples with the recent string of realizations. Where logic ruled before, magic now flourishes. In the place where he once stoked reason into an orienting force, now mystery holds an expanding and exhilarating influence.

Maz helped more than he could have expected. Her knowledge, compassion, and enthusiasm shook pieces of Ben awake that he hadn’t noticed were even dormant. Most notably was his wish for a companion that had been relegated to the lowest rung of importance for many years. Now, he could not ignore the pull if he wanted to.

Ben offered his entire coin purse for her services and kindness, but Maz refused, of course. _“The only payment I will accept is your happiness. And believe me, no matter how vast, I shall sense it across the sea.”_ Her words left him speechless. When he finally found words for a farewell, she looked at him seriously. “It shan’t be for forever, my boy,” she rumbled and gave him a knowing smirk.

Disbelief pertaining to this series of events coats him even now. Despite this, his heart already accepted the reality of his Kraken and the urgency to pursue her, _to make it real,_ fuels his actions. If only his mind would catch up.

Her memory lures him toward the water, a moon tugging at a liquid body. Ben clings to the possibility of joining her. _What else is there to hold onto? No job, prospects, or family. Only a fairytale of a Siren turned Kraken who neglected to kill me._

Two seabirds call down from the sky in piercing squawks and he slumps into the present. With a deep inhale he peers at the dock until a ship catches his attention. It’s relatively small and considerably weathered, showing more damage than most. The crew members seem to care little, both men look jovial upon the deck and so unlike the crew of the _Supremacy_. In a bittersweet flash, Ben imagines the kind of ship his father would captain, prizing camaraderie over appearances.

He knows at once it is exactly the right ship to pursue. The viscous thread that Maz conjured from his chest reaches out toward the boat, yearning in its own mystical, serpentine way. _This is how I will find my way to you._

“Hello,” he calls to a shorter man with dark curly hair. Ben stands on the dock close to the ship, unsure of the protocol to board when one isn’t yet part of the crew. 

“Ahoy,” the man replies with a genuine smile that lights up the space. He throws a rope expertly to the other man, whose crop of hair sits close upon his scalp.

“My name is Ben. I’m looking for work.”

The first man stands up and looks him over. “Related to a ship, I’m guessing.” Another smile tugs at his lips. 

“You guess correctly. I am still unaccustomed to the rigor of sea life but I can assure you that I am a fast learner and strong.” Ben waves his arms at his sides to demonstrate, quickly followed by an internal berating regarding how the flailing must appear to these strangers.

A laugh escapes the man and he turns to face Ben. “My name is Poe. We are in need of another crew member for the next voyage. Do you have _any_ experience on a ship?”

“Nothing more than four days, myself. But my father, Han Solo, grew up on a ship. I have always hoped his expertise flows through my veins, at least to some degree.” Ben shuffles his feet in embarrassment, taken aback by his honesty.

Poe’s eyes turn round and textured. “Finn, did you hear that? This is Han Solo’s son!”

The other man abandons his task and leaps up the steps to join them.

“Han Solo? The famed sailor who rebelled against the Crown to rescue those who fled the King’s heavy hand? The man who brought supplies to those in need up and down this very coast for nye on decades?”

It comes out in a rush of enthusiasm leaving the man called Finn nearly gasping for breath. His expression fills with such charming and frank admiration that Ben makes a bashful throaty noise.

“That is what they say.” He notices pleasantly how little of an emotional surge their statements trigger, especially when compared to the sharp spike he experienced just days before with his previous crew. _I must be maturing,_ Ben thinks with a quirk of his lips.

“Of course you can join us!” Finn exclaims and claps him on the back. “It’s just the two of us. We’d never turn away another pair of hands, especially Solo hands!”

Ben, taken aback by the prompt and positive declaration, stares at them. “Are you certain? With no other credentials or prior knowledge?” He glances around the ship. “It’s but the two of you on a ship this size?”

Poe makes an exhausted face. “Yes, we lost our third mate at the last stop. Wexley decided sailing was not the life he wanted. Something about a preference for real speed and horses over waves and the probability of drowning…” Poe trails off and raises his eyebrows at Ben. “You are most welcome to join us. We cannot offer much in the way of recompense but there are benefits beyond that.”

 _You have no idea what will make this voyage worth it,_ he assures them silently.

Ben nods repeatedly. His fingers fumble in his pocket, the new habit that keeps him anchored. “Money is hardly what I’m after, I guarantee.” He presses his lips together, letting his satisfaction runover, a cup too full to contain all of it. Already he feels at ease.

Finn flashes his teeth. “Welcome aboard!” Finn claps a hand on Ben’s back, who clears his throat, unused to physical touches.

“Thank you. Truly, I appreciate your faith and confidence. Which of you is the captain?”

“Both of us, in truth,” Poe exclaims.

Ben blinks his confusion.

“We know it’s not traditional. But neither of us is traditional in any manner. And, frankly, we’re tired of reporting to men with lighter skin than ours. No offense intended,” Finn adds, pink dusting his cheeks. 

“No offense taken,” Ben says with a meaningful look. “I do not believe that white men should rule over anything or anyone. The injustices birthed from such prejudice and hatred are epidemics my mother I vehemently opposed when she was an elected official. I carry these philosophies with me.”

Poe extends his hand and Ben takes it, gliding over the small gap that exists between ship and dock.

“We are most pleased to hear that, Ben.” Poe’s face creases with joy.

“Thank you for letting me join you on the… What is the name of this ship?” Ben walks onto the planks and steadies himself. _One step closer to you._

“We call it the _Resistance,_ ” Finn announces with a mischievous gleam.

“We concluded it was appropriate.” Poe glances fondly at Finn.

“It is indeed,” Ben says softly. A fresh gust of wind swoops over the ship and the sails do a jig. 

“The sea calls us, mates. Best heed the invitation.” Ben chuckles his agreement.

  


* * *

  


Ben’s original assessment of the sailboat proves to be accurate. The _Resistance_ is an aged and worn-down boat, bearing the proof that little funds exist to restore or improve much of anything over the two years his new comrades have called it theirs. Every plank that gains a fresh coat, every tatter of sail that mends through the diligent fingers of its crew, makes Ben realize the value of having people who love the ship itself instead of profit or ambition.

To Ben’s supreme bewilderment, Poe and Finn envelope him without hesitation. He is but a newcomer, someone who feels deeply undeserving of such kindness. Interestingly, his mates sense this confusion and brush past his awkwardness, dismissing his protestations over the course of their first evening together.

On the _Resistance,_ , alcohol seems to be the only thing of which they have sufficient amounts. The first night comes quickly and they indulge safely in the dark amber rum. It is easy to relish the waxing gibbous moon and vibrant cascade of stars overhead. Over the course of the evening, Ben’s face muscles become overuse but still more jokes pour from Finn and Poe, each one stoking a laugh despite being told probably countless times before.

The next days have little in common with Ben’s experience on the _Supremacy._ Poe and Finn create an atmosphere of mutual respect and equitable investment. There are no squabbles or moments of tension that he’d observed between Pryde and Phasma, none of the judgment that Hux expressed toward Mitaka. Instead, the two men come together, discuss the problem, explore the possible solutions, and reach an agreement between them.

With a rush of awe, Ben realizes it looks like the kind of cooperation between people he’s always imagined, just on a boat and between two men the civilized world, in all its ugly assumptions and inclinations toward superiority, has dismissed as _less than_ because of the color of their skin. _You would love them, Mother. They live by the tenets of what we aimed for with sich vigor and passion. And father, their humor would suit you perfectly._ Ben chuckles at the image of everyone together, found family and the one he lost, merry and carefree under an azure sky.

Working on this ship feels less grueling than on the _Supremacy_. He no longer notices the sharp ache of his body learning how to accomplish tasks. Of course, the discomfort endures; it’s Ben’s demeanor that has evolved. Gratitude courses through his movements, from scrubbing the deck to adjusting the jib. No taste of bitterness or loathing coats his tongue.

The _Resistance_ becomes his home, of a sort, and he can’t quite believe it.

 _If I had known there was a ship with a crew such as this, perhaps I would not have avoided sailing with such dedicated vigor for over a decade of my life._ An edge of grief slices into him at the musing. The lost possibilities of spending time with his father strike him anew. _Either way, it was one parent or the other. I couldn’t be close to both._ Clutching the railing, Ben focuses on moving through the melancholy, allowing the sway of the ship to dictate the rhythm of his breath. He holds each emotion, from regret to gratitude, upon the restless waves. 

The second night Ben regales them with the tale of the storm, unfolding the scene expertly, drawing tight the string of tension. He describes the vicious storm and its strength in drawn-out detail, sitting on a chest across from Finn and Poe. His ascension of the mast that day earns impressed looks and a swig of rum all around. When he comes upon the tentacle, cleaving the ship and nearly Mitaka, his comrades- in a softened haze- gasp. They stare at him, on the precipice of their chairs, jaws swaying listlessly as the ship. 

Their disbelief rebounds off the few clouds that cluster the sky, followed swiftly by a kindly round of laughs and Ben cannot fault them. It’s preposterous and improbable. But his attempts to convince them of his experience take a serious and urgent tone. Enthralled by his tale, Finn and Poe turn serious again, eyes alight.

After a brief pause, Ben confesses that he wants to be with her, the Kraken. This they accept with a bewildering lack of rebuttal. “Do you not find this disquieting?” His incredulity makes his voice crack.

“Fear not, I have heard of more peculiar things. And that look you have in your eye… It tells me you love her.” Finn’s voice rustles quietly, his breath kicking up steam in the night air.

Ben continues to stare at them, both caught between the light of the moon and glow of the lamp. Poe’s head tilts in affirmation of Finn’s comment. 

Ben feels accepted here in a way he hasn’t since working in that dusty office for his mother. There’s a wildness, a raw quality that neither requires polishing nor would it be improved by it. Despite the arduous nature of life on a ship, he finally understands the pull his father had to sealife _I understand now. I see the beauty, the purpose. The bonds._ Through this revelation, he draws closer to his father in memory than in all the years following childhood. 

One day follows another and the three of them become a unit of efficiency and trust under the guileless sun. Together, they seek the horizon and the mysteries below it. Ben begins to feel less sure if he belongs below the waves or on the worn planks of the _Resistance_. 

Of course, his dreams believe otherwise.

They lap on the shore of his sleep, tickling at his subconscious with want. It goes deeper still, into a torrent of need. She permeates the liminal spaces, the unconscious world.

 _I’m coming to find you,_ he thinks, feeling the white-tipped waves pull them further out to sea.

  


* * *

  


“Storm’s rolling in!” Poe’s voice travels the span of the deck without hindrance. Ben glances upward, an immediate frenzy in his chest. White-tipped waves pick up their pursuit of reaching skyward, tiny liquid mountains that swiftly absolve themselves into the greater expanse of water.

“Roger. I’ll loosen the mainsail,” Ben shouts over the wind. _Does the storm mean you are near? Will I be with you soon?_ The days have been minimal in number but long in the steady, impatient trickle of his thinking. He senses her through the wicked pull of undercurrent and emotionless slink of cloud overhead.

_Your tide takes me over. It pulls me to you. I will be yours if you will have me in the swirl of your waters._

The sheer weight of his dedication to this creature seems out of a fable, sharp with warning and danger. And yet, he has few concerns. She becomes the compass and he the arrow, ever seeking her, swirling endlessly until forces make them one. Magnetism and urgency push him over the waves, each one cresting as the salt in his body rushes on.

Finn appears beside him, electric with excitement. “This might be what we have been waiting for.”

Ben nods and cocks a brow at his friend. “I’m ready. And you?”

“I live for this,” Finn retorts, eyes and teeth flashing.

Poe steers the ship while Finn works rapidly, securing crates, sails, and tools. Since the ship is small and Finn leaps from task to task, there is not much for Ben to do. He stands at the prow, willing her presence, craving her approach. His crew doesn’t fault him.

A hefty wave crashes into the leeward side of the ship and Ben falls to his knees. He’s back on his feet quickly, eyes scouring the disrupted, frothing surface of the water in search of something to demonstrate the propinquity of what anyone else would call a monster. 

_I will call you beloved if the world grants me the chance._

His hand goes to his pocket unconsciously, fingers encircling the hard vial. Immediately, the water trembles. It churns upon itself, moved by something underneath, something sizeable and impatient. It becomes its own unmitigated shape.

Ben braces himself and debates whether to leap now or stay with his friends a while longer.

_Will Finn and Poe understand my abrupt departure?_

He doesn’t want to cause worry or leave them with too few hands. After all of their generosity, he wouldn’t want to seem selfish, ungrateful. Diving into the water, Ben fears, would send that very message. 

A frigid wave throws itself upon the prow and he gasps. Indecision forms solidly in his throat, oblong and acrid. Suddenly, Ben loses track of himself, the line between grey sky and grey ocean blurring until it does not exist.

The ship leaps over a wave and he staggers. Finding his balance once more, Ben gulps and breathes too quickly, an onslaught of oxygen making his head float upward. When a long sinewy shape erupts from the surface, the vapors instantly leave his mind clear and confident.

“Poe, Finn! I think she’s here!”

Both men look at him, eyes shot through with fear. They share a glance and communicate silently. Then they nod and turn back to Ben.

“Alright, what should we do?” Finn hollers over a fresh clap of thunder.

Ben glances around, at a loss. “I don’t know. What if I’m making a mistake?”

Having apparently abandoned the wheel, Poe appears beside him. “What do you feel is right?” 

Poe places a reassuring hand on Ben’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, Ben hears the creak of the ship boards and the groan of protest from the metal rigging. The sail whips within the wind while the first dazzle of drops fall to join the ferocious sea.

When he opens his eyes, Ben glances toward his chest. There, the gold of the chord that Maz bestowed upon him glints emerald and purple in the growing gloom of the storm. It grows, gaining speed and physicality as it dilates.

Poe gasps and stumbles back.

“You can see it?” Ben manages to say, uncertain if his voice can combat the volume of the mounting tumult surrounding them.

His friend stares off to where the vine twines itself, plunging into the glacial-colored waters. Finn dashes from the wheel to witness the ethereal smolder of magic. He quirks his head at Poe who, with eyes drenched with wonder and expression dazed, teeters to the wheel.

“That’s your sign, Ben. The spell calls you to her.” Finn’s voice sounds far away, buffeted by awe. 

Ben, distracted by how his lungs feel tarnished and bruised by the force of gulping and expelling air, looks at Finn. An unraveling of tension occurs throughout his muscles while a deep exhale brings his shoulders down. He knows what he has to do.

Ben’s fingers curl into his hands, nails making thin crescents upon his skin. “Will you be alright if I leave?” He makes sure his voice travels, strength finding momentum the more words that slip past his lips.

Both men’s heads snap to him. Poe speaks at once and Ben runs forward to catch the reply. “Yes. If this is what you want, we will make our way just fine. But Ben,” Poe rasps, gripping the wheel fiercely, “Be careful.”

Poe’s plea reminds him of how preposterous the scenario looks to others. Staring at his comrade without truly seeing him, Ben recognizes with meticulous precision of how far-flung he has become. _This is the precipice. I leap now or never._

Glancing around, he sees a muscled limb snake out of the water and a current of delight ensnares him. Without further delay, Ben gruffly hugs the men who have become brothers over the span of only days. He feels their rope-calloused fingers grip him, inhaling the wax, sun, and tang of life on a ship.

“Go find your Kraken,” Poe grunts and pulls back. 

“She had better not kill you or I’ll have my own magical thread to follow,” Finn adds quickly, lips lurching upward in half-hearted jest.

“She will not harm me. I know this to a greater degree than I have known anything before.” Ben shakes his head in disbelief while the words linger, unhurried to transgress the air. Poe shares a small smile.

“Go.”

The second the word breeches the air a tentacle rears up, higher and higher until the suckers decrease in size. Ben stops breathing for an instant, willing his body to find its way into that embrace. He watches the towering appendage and feels everything grow still.

Movement at the surface draws his attention. She appears beyond the ship, pale face matching the glowering clouds. Her shadowed eyes bore into him. Finn and Poe make startled noises that are garbled by the storm.

Ben leaps at once.

The descent seems to take ages, despite the ship not standing tall above the waves. It’s a trick of the mind, any additional moment away from her lengthening illogically. His chest constricts, his heart having lost its innate knowledge of rhythm, pumping. He flares within himself and watches her face follow.

Hitting the water causes his body to grow rigid. He sinks, numbed and unknowing, mind washed blanked with the impact. And then her arms are around him, writhing and bold in their rescue. They grasp him, skin smooth, _so disimilar her tentacles,_ he thinks before his head bursts through the surface.

When he blinks the briny liquid from his eyes, her face hovers unexpectedly close. She looks ageless, infinite. The waves jostle them but he remains steady in her arms.

“You found me.” Her murmur is tinged with seafoam softness.

Ben tries to take in a breath before he can muster a response. “Nothing could stop me.”

A hesitant smile graces her lip.

“I did not think you would come back.”

Ben glances over his shoulder and sees Poe and Finn drifting from sight, their hands upraised in encouragement and farewell. He knows they will find it hard to accept what they have seen. _May we meet again_.

“How could I not?” His hands regain motor function at last. He brings them to her face, tender and yearning. When he runs his thumbs down her cheeks, the chill of her skin stokes a responding fire deep within him.

“I am a monster. You are a man.” Her brows weave together.

Ben shakes his head. “We are neither. We are more.”

Her eyes become the hue of the midnight sky, velvet and serene. Her smile returns in earnest.

Relishing her proximity, Ben kicks closer until their noses bob an inch apart. He imagines his lips have become a faded blue but still, he parts them, imagining the touch of hers. _Will they be soft? Or textured?_

After several moments of quiet floating, she protests further. “But there are limits to a life we can lead together. The sea is no place for a man.” Her face drops with childlike disappointment he would not expect from such a being. He finds it quite endearing.

Tracing the line of her jaw, he’s amazed when she leans into his touch.

“That’s nothing we cannot amend. I was gifted magic that can turn me into a Siren. I care not what form I take to live by your side.” The last words are punctuated by the chatter of teeth.

His head feels light and an odd fluttering suffuses his thoughts. His body has gone numb, yet her nearness keeps his heart thudding, however dull, in his chest. _We’ll have to decide soon what happens, or I will perish simply due to inaction._

The waves settle gradually while the stormclouds scurry away without unloading further moisture. He wonders what her powers include, if she can enchant the weather as well as human hearts.

She tilts her head. “I welcome your magic, sailor. But you do not know my story, who I am.”

“The witch who helped me had an idea about the journey you have taken, from protector to destroyer. You made a choice after a god stole a goddess. A choice that brought you here.”

She blinks, startled and relieved. “You accept all of the devastations I have wrought on your kind?”

“I do. I am no judge.” His teeth’s percussion turns violent.

The shadows leave her eyes and she grips him tighter. “I am Rey. What is your name?” she asks in a rush. 

“Bb- ...” He grimaces and presses his icy lips together. “Ben,” he eventually mumbles, raising his brows at her. His mind mirrors the newly placid water. 

“Ben.” A flash of light ricochets within her eyes, the streak of a star, or a ray of light through leaves. The storm passes. “Drink up your medicine. I will not be losing you, now that you have come back to me.”

Ben’s lips curve and in halting, stilted movements he attempts to retrieve the container. Rey watches him struggling and her brows crease. After a beat, her fingers slip into his pocket and pull out the vial. She gives him a look of uncertainty and delicate hope. 

“Are you sure this is what you desire?” The ghost of her voice tickling his face makes him shiver.

“Yes.” The word has a resolute weight, sinking into the water that purls between their torsos. Ben uncorks the vial with his trembling teeth and pours the crimson liquid down his throat. It ignites in his mouth, bubbles of heat and static almost scalding as it descends. His body convulses and his eyes blow wide. _I will no longer be what I was. I embark on something new with her._

Rey keeps her eyes locked onto him while he transforms. It starts in the toes. Ben feels the flesh between digits meld, feet weaving together from the existing skin. His muscles contort and there’s a sharp burn that ripples the length of his legs. But Rey holds him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and tentacles arcing in concentric circles to protect him.

His ankles join and a rush of feeling alerts him that something different extends where his feet once did. Then his knees crunch together, bones continuing their rearrangement in almost intolerable discomfort. Breathing heavily, Ben clutches at Rey’s shoulders, fixating on the rise and fall of her chest instead of the painful alchemy of his shifting form. 

When the flesh of his thighs melts together the acute distress lessens incrementally. Ben cannot begin to visualize the profound change in his lower half and he huffs out a mystified laugh. His mind finds an unfamiliar equilibrium, one of stillness and peace. 

_However I may look, at least I am with her._

Ben arches his body, muscles twitching to learn their strengths. With a powerful motion, he beats his tail back and forth, propelling himself out of the water. Droplets of ocean bounce in the post-storm sunlight. Rey watches transfixed, eyes creased with joy. 

No longer cold, he dives into the water, gills slicing his neck without much more than a few brief pinches of skin serrating.

Instantly, Rey leaps after him. She swims to his right, tentacles bending and hooking around them both. Her speed outpaces his own but she lingers nearby, tickling with her Kraken limbs. He surges faster, reaching to run a hand along her exposed torso.

Sensing his pursuit, she circles around and glides below him, hair rippling from the race. She holds his gaze, a tide of _welcome home, beloved_ pulling him in. He comes closer, dwarfing her, and slips his fingers around her ribcage. The juxtaposition of how small her Siren half is compared to the Kraken half astounds him.

“You are a marvel,” he burbles out.

“As are you, my love.”

She utters the endearment without hesitation, without a hint of doubt. He thinks of the ships that brought him to her, of the tragedy of his family. And for once, he resents none of the hurdles that puncuate his life.

Ben tugs her until her stomach touches his and she releases a shimmering sigh. In response, Rey trips her fingers over his skin, gaze glinting like moonlight on the ocean’s face. His fin pumps leisurely, keeping them afloat in the dappled water of the near-surface.

When he kisses her, a torrent of energy makes the water bubble. With frantic hands and hearts, they become the center of a fresh maelstrom, the eye of a blistering storm. They coalesce, sunlight splinting through the water without hindrance. He holds her face and she grasps his arms, lips finding a saliferous cadence. Time passes in slips of driftwood, worn and unseen, tossed about by their combined current.

After a time, Ben pulls away to search her face and Rey returns his stare half-lidded. Her eyes hold secrets and truths. Without a further thought, Ben plunges into their depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This was interesting to write. I had outlined six chapters initially. But since it has been challenging to focus on writing, I scaled back. I think it's better distilled as it is.
> 
> I realized this is kind of a companion piece to By Your Eyes I am Known. I like making Rey into mythical creatures, it seems ^_^
> 
> Please let me know what you all think!

**Author's Note:**

> ✨Thank you for reading ✨ 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://briaeveridian.tumblr.com/) where my SW obsession lives aggressively.


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